Page 150 of To Catch a Sub

“Maybe they realized it’s too narrow,” she said slowly.

“Maybe.” Landon gave up on careful, completing the turn and driving too-fast down the narrow, low canyon created by red-bricked buildings. What had looked like a short alley when they first turned in, was in fact a short alley connected to a much longer one that mirrored the King’s Road. They hit a couple rubbish cans, but he could see the end of the alley, where it met what looked like a good-sized street.

A massive blue-plastic traffic safety barrel dropped from the sky, landing in front of the car half a second before he plowed into the water-filled canister. He slammed on the brakes, but they were too close. The Aston Martin’s hood crumpled and the airbags deployed as they hit heavy plastic and heavier water.

Landon was thrown against the seat belt, and it felt like he’d taken a mallet to the chest. For a moment he couldn’t see, the powder from the airbag stinging his eyes as the bag itself filled his vision.

Landon shoved it out of the way and grabbed the wheel, stamping his foot on the accelerator. They needed to get out of here, now.

The car lurched forward once, but stopped, lights on the dash flashing, the brakes automatically locking down in reaction to the crash.

Fuck.

Landon turned to Colette. “Once you’re out of the car, run.”

“Landon,” she whispered, eyes wide as she looked at him.

“It’s okay, help’s coming.” The onboard emergency call system button in the ceiling was illuminated. The airbags had deployed, meaning the car would automatically call 999.

He tried to undo her seatbelt with his left hand, reaching across his body to undo his own at the same time. His came loose, but hers was stuck.

“Call Rolf,” Landon said, hoping his phone picked up the sound of his voice. It had been on the center console when they crashed, so it was probably somewhere in the back seat.

Colette screamed, looking out through the water-coated windshield.

Three men wearing motorcycle helmets with black visors were approaching from the front. He twisted, looking back. Two more coming that direction.

Landon grabbed Colette’s right hand. “Love, look at me. Reach down and lean your seat back. You can scoot out from under the seat belt that way.” He released her, and she obeyed, reaching down beside her seat. Landon started ripping open compartments in the car, looking for a weapon. Surely Andrei kept a knife?—

The passenger door opened with a whine of metal.

Fuck. He hadn’t locked the doors. In the event of a crash, newer cars unlocked the doors to make it easier for rescuers to get people out.

Colette yanked frantically on the seatbelt, leaning towards him and away from the open door.

Landon lunged across the center console, trying to put himself between her and the helmeted men.

The car was too fucking small, or he was too big. He was half covering her when his door opened, and hard hands grabbed his legs, yanking him back.

“Landon!”

He twisted as they pulled him out of the car, punching one of them hard enough in the upper arm that he let go, which allowed Landon to kick the other one in the chest. The man staggered, going to one knee.

Landon landed awkwardly on his ass, his back slamming against the edge of the open door. He ignored the pain, shooting to his feet. The first man shook out his arm and came at Landon, knife in hand. Landon didn’t give him time to get close enough to use the blade. He kicked the man in the knee. Something crunched and the assailant screamed.

So did Colette.

Landon whipped around, looking across the roof of the car in time to see them haul Colette out the passenger door.

She fought—punching one man in the throat before the man behind her grabbed her arms.

“Drop,” he yelled, putting one foot on edge of the car, preparing to go up and over to get to her.

She shot him a glance, then tried dropping down. The idea was that the attacker wouldn’t have a good enough grip to hold on against gravity and body weight.

But the man holding Colette was experienced enough to know how to counter. He switched his hold, arm now around her neck.

“Get your fucking hands off her.” Landon climbed onto the roof, clambering to his feet. He was going to kick each one of these fuckers in the fucking head and then?—